Prelude to the Dark Times
by sb18
Summary: The Paternoster Gang weren't the first ones to take care of the Doctor during the Dark Times. Craig Owens receives an unexpected guest and does his best to clean fresh wounds, but sometimes the healing process isn't so easy. (Post-TATM. Pre-The Snowmen.)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Takes place after Darillium for the Doctor, assuming that it happened after TATM. Pre-The Snowmen.**

**As I am American, I apologize for all the Britishisms I am not familiar with.**

**Doctor Who belongs to the BBC.**

* * *

"Look, don't worry about it. We'll be fine… yes… uh-huh… yes." Phone balanced between the side of his face and his shoulder, Craig Owens bustled through his living room, warily eyeing his two-year-old storm of a son as he toddled around the coffee table. "Yes, now don't worry about us. You tend to your Gran. Make sure she's okay. Have a safe flight. Call me when you get there. All right? Bye… Love you too."

After promptly ending the call and shoving the phone back into its cradle, the worn-out father couldn't help but let loose a sigh. Sweaty palms ran through short-cropped hair, and weary eyes clenched shut for a few seconds of futile rest.

It wasn't often that Sophie left her boys. However, Sophie's grandmother, who resided in America, had been taken to the hospital in critical condition, and it was of utmost importance that Sophie be there, of course. The situation was incredibly unfortunate, and Craig felt for his girlfriend.

To add to the list of unfortunate news, Craig had also just been let go from his job the week before. He had spent the past several days helping around the house while scouring the newspapers, tracking down at least some form of work. Sophie assured him that everything would fall into place eventually, but the stress of it all nagged away at his mind.

To top it all off, there was… _that_ day.

Craig once again ran his hands over his face and reassessed the situation.

Sophie would be gone. Gone for prospectively no less than the time span of a month. A long, dreary, utterly depressing month. A month that Craig would spend by himself, alone with only his bumbling and gurgling Alfie to keep him company. No Sophie in sight to help him with the dishes, the laundry, the cooking, the cleaning, the baby-sitting… the list continued down a hopelessly never-ending track…

…but overall, lonely… terribly lonely, with no work to keep him busy, with the only person he wanted to be with off dealing with a dire and depressing situation.

And most pressing was the fact that it was all so soon. So soon before… _that _day_._ The day that lay less than a week away from the end of this inevitably long and lonely month.

He'd be lying if he said he weren't also a tad bit frightened.

A bump and a terrifyingly ominous giggle awakened Craig from his reverie, and he quickly darted to where his son was clumsily attempting to lift a rather hefty hardback novel. Strong hands wrapped around the small boy before he could get himself hurt.

"Now Alfie, I'm going to need you to do both of us a favor and be on your best behavior." Craig studied his son as the toddler gazed in every which-way besides his father's stern yet flustered face.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the company that Alfie provided. The past two years of parenting had provided Craig with enough experience to safely manage a mischievous baby, but this sudden surprise of a month with no constant companion was… well, a surprise.

The whole predicament was rather stressful for him. With a dejected shake of his head, Craig adjusted the boy in his arms.

Yes, Craig was stressed, scared, lonely. He'd been faced with killer alien spaceships and terrifying robots from a different galaxy, yet a month alone had him ready to pull his hair out.

"I know the last time we were left to ourselves was quite an adventure," Craig's thoughts drifted to Cybermen in the shopping mall, "but this time, we just need everything to go… smoothly. No catastrophes, no life-threatening situations, no big messes to clean up…" Craig couldn't help but let his gaze drift to the window. It had been so long since they'd seen the Doctor…

He shook his head in dejection. What was he hoping to find? Help? A distraction to cheer him up?

"No adventures for us. Nobody else, either. Just you and me and a quiet month… Alone."

* * *

The days wore by. He did the chores. He cooked. He cared for Alfie. All by himself. Alone.

By day three, he had sunken into the routine. He couldn't help but pity himself as he longed for when Sophie would finally be back and he would finally have his companion with him.

… because what was the point of the routine if there was nobody to share it with?

He knew that he was being insensitive, but the loneliness continued to drill into him.

Craig dared another glance out the window, though he didn't know why he bothered. No aliens to keep him company. No doctor to help and make things suddenly better. With a huff, he continued dusting the furniture, and the day sunk into nighttime.

He hated being alone.

* * *

A week had come and gone. Then he heard it.

He hadn't been expecting it. Of course he hadn't been expecting it; the world was just keen on surprising a certain Craig Owens into a stressed sort of stupor.

He hadn't been hoping for it. Okay, that was somewhat of a lie. Ever since ridding the shopping mall of the Cybermen, he had hoped just a little that the Time Lord would drop by for a visit sometime, but that hope inevitably lugged the wariness that rightfully came with every appearance of the certain time traveler.

All in all, Craig was plastered still when he heard the unmistakable sound of time machine engines at work. He had just finished putting Alfie to bed, and the last thing he was expecting to hear was that wonderfully impossible sound.

But it was real. It was unmistakable. _He _was _here_.

Barely stifling down a gasp (of excitement or apprehension, he did not know), Craig quickly stumbled down the stairs and to the front door. He turned the doorknob with shaky hands and promptly yanked the door open.

"Doctor!"

His exclamation was met with silence, for he was greeted by nothing more than a set of closed blue doors and a "Pull to Open" plaque. The impossible man had parked his time machine directly in front of the front door. With a shake of his head, Craig waited a few seconds for the Time Lord to present himself.

However, the seconds ticked by, and yet not a sound escaped from within the TARDIS.

"Doctor?"

It was then that Craig noticed that the police box's doors were already cracked open. Moving his head, he peered inside to see a dim orange ambiance. He'd always wondered what the time machine held within…

"Doctor?" he called once again, quieter this time. Craig's sense of apprehension continued to grow as he warily stepped forward and pushed the doors open.

The inside… it was bigger on the inside. Of course, he had already known that fact, but it was all so different seeing it first-hand. However, his mind could only briefly process this phenomenon as his eyes quickly spotted his friend sitting on a set of stairs directly before him. Craig found that he could not wipe a smile from his face.

"Doc—" and yet again, his expectations were shot to the ground, and his smile faltered into nonexistence.

It was undoubtedly the Doctor, but the tweed was gone, replaced with an open wrinkled dress shirt revealing a white undershirt atop a pair of creased black slacks. A tuxedo jacket with tails lay crumpled on the glass floor a few feet away. Further off, a top hat lay on its side, seemingly cast off without a care. The usual cheery and whimsical bowtie was nowhere to be seen.

As for the Doctor himself, the man sat on the bottom step, his lanky form leaning pathetically against the railing. Long legs lay seemingly lifeless in an awkward and uncomfortable pose. Bony hands wrung themselves together. A head sporting a new yet disheveled haircut hung downward, hiding a face that Craig dreaded to see. The Doctor made no motion to acknowledge that he even noticed the other man had entered.

Craig stood frozen at the threshold of the ship, unsure of how to react. Of all the impossible things that the Doctor trailed along with him, he hadn't been expecting _this_.

After overcoming his initial shock, Craig gingerly shuffled over to his friend, wary to not startle the man. He slowly knelt before the Time Lord and looked into his face.

The face was just as heart-wrenching. Chapped lips cracked open, letting dry wisps of breath to escape and suck in. Clammy skin paled into a plainly unhealthy color. Eyes painfully red and just terribly… lifeless.

"Doctor?" he practically whispered. He didn't know what to say, so he spoke with nothing more than the earnest concern that he had. "Doctor? What's wrong? Please tell me what's going on."

Those empty green irises flicked upward and took in the sight of Craig for the first time; however, there were no widened eyes of surprise, no smiles of sweet reunion. There was a hollow recognition, yet nothing more.

It was a few moments before stiff lips finally formed words, and even so, the words formed were barely louder than a hoarse whisper.

"Craig?" The Doctor let in a few more quiet yet ragged breaths before finding the heart to continue. His words were slow, a forced and breathy whisper. "What are you doing… here?"

The other man forced a friendly smile. "I should be asking you," he replied, attempting to inject some form of light-heartedness into the room. When met with only empty eyes and silence, the smile soon disappeared. Craig placed an assuring hand on his friend's shoulder. The fact that the gesture garnered no form of a reaction disturbed him, for the Doctor was impossibly stiff and cold, seemingly lifeless. Green eyes seemed to stare past him.

"Come on. Let's go inside." He paused. "Into the house, I mean. A good cuppa would do you good." He was once again met with no response as the Time Lord only continued to stare, and Craig could feel part of himself breaking inside.

"Just come with me."

Nothing.

_"Please."_

There was a sharp intake of breath, like the latter half of an unfinished sob, and the empty stare was once again directed downwards to the floor. Craig felt that his attempts to help were going nowhere. However, he gently lifted one of the other man's arms and wasn't met with any protests. In fact, the only opposition he felt as he lifted the Doctor's arm over his shoulder was the alien's dead weight.

For a moment, Craig awkwardly attempted to lug the other man from off the staircase, but some form a consciousness must have clicked because the Doctor soon managed to weakly hold up some of his weight. The two managed to slowly hobble out of the TARDIS's doors and into Craig's home.


	2. Chapter 2

The sound of the tea kettle was the only sound made after entering the house. Craig busied himself with making the tea, wringing his hands, and stealing quick glances over his shoulder toward his friend.

Bizarre was the word that rang through Craig's mind. Bizarre and unbefitting. The situation to reduce such a glorious figure into such a literal mess surely did not have the rights to exist.

Craig finally braved a long stare at the Doctor even though his sneaky attempts to study the other man were for naught as the Time Lord seemed quite apart from the current reality. The pathetic excuse of a once exuberant man sat on the couch, his back to Craig's concerned gaze.

Although once seemingly lifeless when Craig found him, the Doctor was now stiff, shoulders held squarely and uptight, like a statue placed in the wrong setting. It was evident that the alien was uncomfortable in his current position, and Craig ached at his urge to rid his companion of the feeling. He was Craig's friend after all. Craig's home was the Doctor's home as well, and he was determined to show nothing less than the genuine hospitality of a friend.

"Milk and sugar, Doctor?"

Only silence. Craig added a sufficient amount of the ingredients anyway and gingerly paced to the lounge, a steaming mug of tea in each hand. He stopped before the Time Lord, holding out a mug, half expecting to not earn a response but trying nonetheless. With a certain shocked curiousness, Craig watched as the Doctor took the steaming cup in both hands. His head remained bowed and he refused to meet Craig's gaze. However, he took a shallow yet long sip, and satisfied that he was making some form of progress, Craig took a seat beside him, taking a sip from his own tea.

"Nothing like a nice cuppa, eh?" he prodded quietly.

The Doctor kept the mug held to his face, as if he were reveling in the sweet smell, Craig thought. In honesty, though, he had no clue what to interpret as his companion's face betrayed not an emotion. The stillness may in fact just have been an inability to find the heart to simply move. If the Time Lord's expression earlier in the TARDIS were one of utter loss and pain, his expression now was one of a complete dejection.

It was a few beats before the Doctor lowered the cup to his lap, stone face still intact. Craig lowered his gaze to the carpet.

"Yes."

The answer was so quiet and brief, that Craig didn't bother looking back up. He awkwardly tapped his fingers on the ceramic in his hands and sifted through his mind for the right words to project. It was a few minutes before he found the courage to speak again.

"Do you… Do you want to talk?" He paused, hoping for an answer but received none. "Is that why you came here? To talk… because I'm here… to talk to… if you need it." He mentally slapped himself as the words slipped out. There was no reason for him to be nervous, yet here he found himself with sweaty palms, wanting only to do the right thing yet having no clue as how to accomplish such a task.

"I didn't come here," the Doctor answered sharply, and Craig felt a sting inside as he caught a flash of bitterness in that rigid face, a face that seemed to finally sport the many years of the man wearing it. It took all of Craig's courage to voice a response.

"But… you are here."

He paused, taking a moment to once again study the Doctor's appearance. The dress shirt lay open, revealing a white undershirt; there were no buttons on the dress shirt, only tiny threads that hung loosely where buttons once were. The Time Lord's trousers weren't even buttoned closed.

Craig shook his head and continued.

"You're here. Maybe you need to be… here… right now… to talk."

When he was met with another silence, Craig warily turned his gaze back to the Time Lord's face, hoping to catch his eye, striving to project the concern that he felt. He placed a hand on the other's shoulder, concern growing when the Doctor's posture stiffened even further at the touch.

"I'm here, Doctor. Talk to—"

"_No_," the Doctor snapped, hands suddenly clenching his mug in a seemingly numbing grip, lips pulling back to reveal a tight and pained grimace. "I can't… can't..." His voice then seemed to wither from its sudden raised volume, diminishing into a bereft whisper. "… can't… no… no," were the last words Craig caught before the Doctor's mutterings became indistinguishable. Throughout it all, the Time Lord refused to meet Craig's gaze.

With a sigh, Craig placed down his tea, lifted himself from the couch, retrieved a throw from a nearby chair, and reached over to drape the blanket across his friend's shoulders. While he was met with no protests, the alien's rigid posture remained. Craig gently took the mug from the Doctor's hands, once again met with no protest and no response, and turned to leave the lounge. He paused at the threshold.

"We have the guest bedroom down the hall," he stated; however, he didn't bother to continue as he knew the information would be disregarded. Without another word, he left the Time Lord to bask in the silence.

* * *

If he were to be frank, he wasn't expecting the Doctor to stay. He expected to see an empty couch and a lack of blue time machine and sullen alien. However, a mere time span of twelve hours had had Craig see each of his expectations proven wrong, and this morning was no exception, beholding a sleeping alien on the sofa.

Although asleep (though Craig thought that "passed out" would be a more fitting expression), the Doctor had not budged from his position on the sofa. His rear was still plastered to the side of the sofa where he was the night before, and the throw was still draped over his shoulders. However, he was slumped over with his head resting on the armrest at a rather uncomfortable-looking angle. Craig could hear the soft, airy breaths of deep sleep.

Taken back by the sight, Craig could not help but pause at the threshold. He took in the image of the sleeping Time Lord and saw a deep sense of vulnerability within the alien. It looked so incredulously… human.

After a few moments of pondering over what to do, Craig gingerly stepped over to his friend. He wished he didn't have to wake the Doctor, fearing the response it would garner and simply just not wanting to disturb the alien, but he wasn't about to attempt to carry a full-grown man to bed, no matter how seemingly skinny and light said man was.

"Doctor," Craig whispered lightly, gently nudging the alien's shoulder. "Doctor. Wake up."

Slowly, the Doctor cracked his eyes open and somehow still managed to have an expression of sorrow plastered to his face even upon awakening.

"Let's get you to the bed. Can't be comfortable here… on the sofa."

Craig was once again a little shocked to see the Doctor slowly sit up without a protest. Though slow and seeming to somewhat force his body, the Doctor stood up and walked in the direction Craig prodded, throw still draped over his slumped shoulders. Not a word was spoken, and all Craig could make himself do was to put a hand to the Doctor's back, if only to reassure and comfort.

They entered the guest bedroom, and the Doctor unceremoniously dropped down on top of the covers of the queen-sized bed. He lay on his side with his back to Craig, silence being the only thing exchanged between the two. Craig stood to the side, pausing for a few moments if only because he had no idea as to what to do next. Should he pull the covers over the man? Tuck him in? Turn off the lights?

He continued to watch the Doctor's unmoving form, and for a moment he thought the Time Lord had drifted off to sleep once again. He wasn't expecting him to speak.

"It's empty."

Craig's eyes widened as he was taken aback by the words. It was the first time in this strange encounter that the Doctor initiated conversation. "Wh-what do you mean, Doctor?"

It was few seconds before there was a response.

"The bed," the Doctor replied, back still facing Craig so that he could not see the Time Lord's face, "It's been so long… since I've realized…_ remembered_… how empty it can be… _the bed_."

The Doctor's slender frame only covered a small fraction of the queen-sized bed, and Craig watched as the Doctor's arm slowly slid out before him to the empty space of the mattress, as if he were reaching out to touch someone. Of course, there was only an empty set of sheets.

Craig wanted to say something, but what could one say?

"I'm so sorry, Doctor," he finally stammered, feeling like a sorry excuse for a friend. When he was met with no response, he flicked out the lights, stepped out, and shut the door.

* * *

Craig was determined to help his friend; however, he knew what the man needed was time for rest alone. The man dreaded to think what kind of horrid adventure it was the Time Lord had just left.

However, between tidying the house and tending to Alfie, Craig couldn't help but walk by the Doctor's door and pause every moment or so. Most of the time he heard nothing, only the silence of either deep sleep or meditation…

… sometimes he thought he heard words, single words, muttered ramblings. Something to do with music… and _rivers? _It made no sense most of the time.

Sometimes he heard what he thought were sobs. Quiet, but drawn-out, sometimes heaving sobs.

He wanted to ask. He wanted to help.

He knew it was best he came in later. Not now.


	3. Chapter 3

It was on the third morning since the Doctor's late-night arrival that the alien finally set foot outside the guest bedroom. Craig hadn't noticed until he felt the man's gaze bearing down upon him. After looking up in mild shock, he set down the book he had been perusing and stiffened in his seat upon the sofa.

He allowed himself several seconds to study the Doctor's appearance, mostly unchanged. Disheveled hair stood atop a head that housed an incredibly tired, pallid face. Slouched shoulders and a defeated gait sported the same clothes they did three nights before, only now more wrinkled and withered.

Craig continued to stare, not failing to notice that the Doctor's withering gaze had dropped to his feet. It was a few more moments before Craig opened his mouth to speak; however, the Doctor's own words surfaced before the man could say a thing.

"Why am I here, Craig?"

The question was a hoarse croak, and Craig couldn't help but cringe as it seemed that the words had painfully scratched through an incredibly sore throat. Either way, the sentence uttered nothing but _pain._

"Honestly, Doctor, I've been wanting to ask you the same thing," he answered slowly but curtly in concern. He patted the seat beside him. "Won't you sit?"

The offer was ignored. "How long have I been here?"

The Doctor's gaze—now a glare—had once again lifted to fall upon Craig. If he hadn't known the Doctor, he'd easily infer a sense of malice from those ancient eyes. Or was it regret? He answered calmly and honestly, feeling the Doctor needed nothing more, nothing less.

"Two days."

The Time Lord's jaw clenched as he inhaled through his teeth. Red eyes glared holes into Craig's own gaze as clammy hands tightened and released only to tighten again. The Doctor's eyes then darted around the room, as if trying to find a target or attempting to find something lost. Craig jumped when the Doctor let out a sharp growl bordering on being a roar.

Who was this man that stood before him?

Craig wanted to step forward and lay a comforting hand on his friend; however, he pondered whether the notion would help or just give means for the alien to lash out. Craig inhaled and once again spoke calmly.

"Are… are you angry, Doctor?" he asked cautiously. The Time Lord, now breathing heavily, whipped his glare back to the man. Craig continued with concern. "It's been two days that you been here, in my guest room. Three nights that you've spent. Don't you remember?"

The Doctor continued to stare as he inhaled scratchy heaves. His body shivered then continued in a weak tremble. Watery red eyes shook in a sort of disoriented craze.

"Doctor… do you remember?"

"_RAAAAGGGHH!"_

Craig jumped to his feet at the exclamation, startled and cautious. The Doctor continued in a roaring rasp.

"Remember? _Remember?!_ All I do is _REMEMBER_!"

The alien swung an arm out in sharp exclamation before quickly bringing both of them back in to tightly wrap around himself, as if he were braving against a biting cold wind. He continued to yell.

"Remember?! Remember?!" He leaned forward in his shout, lips bearing back revealing clenching teeth.

"It won't _leave_ me!" He exclaimed in a scathing growl. His arms flung out again in a swing. "NEVER! It never leaves! IT WILL NEVER!"

Craig quickly reached out to the man in urgency, tightly grasping the Doctor by either arm, but the Time Lord struggled against him, spittle flying from his mouth as he screeched.

"Why?! WHYYYY?!"

"Doctor, please stop!"

"_WHYYYYYY?!"_

The struggle between the two quickly became raucous, and Craig fought to keep the other man from hurting himself, tightening his grasp and struggling against the other's lashing arms. The Doctor flailed, his words falling apart, becoming nothing more than animalistic cries and sobs.

The two fought, knocking their legs into the sofa, the coffee table, the wall. The Doctor whipped back and forth, willing to free himself from the other's grasp. One sudden and strong lurch brought the two tumbling to the carpet with a painful thud. Taking his current position from above in advantage, Craig held the Doctor tight, willing him to stop as he writhed beneath him, sobbing.

"Doctor! Stop! Please!"

"RAAAAGHHH!"

"Please! Just stop! Doctor!"

The lurching and lashing eventually died down after excruciatingly long and painful minutes. The tremulous sobs continued, though the energy behind them slowly began to diminish. The Doctor's face was soaked in tears and sweat, and he trembled incessantly.

They remained in the same position, with Craig holding himself above the other as he feared another tantrum would arise if he removed himself. Each sob from the other man seemed to stab a dagger through Craig's chest, but he waited, forced to listen.

As the Doctor's cries finally withered down into pitiful moans, Alfie's own wailing could be heard from upstairs. After waiting a few more minutes in order to ensure that the Doctor would not attempt to lash out again, Craig slowly lifted himself from the other man and rose to his feet.

The Doctor didn't move from where he lay. The poor figure only continued to tremble, moaning and whimpering, staring off into nowhere, face adorned with sweaty, matted hair and a sniveling, runny nose.

Craig finally forced himself to tear his gaze away from the sight, and he quickly plodded up the stairs to tend to his son.

He heard the Doctor let loose another wailing sob, and it was all Craig could do to wipe away the tears that had fallen down his own face.

* * *

He wasn't surprised to find the Doctor in the same spot on the floor when he returned after finally managing to put Alfie back to sleep. The Time Lord lay curled up with his arms wrapped around himself, fingers digging into his sides. His body still trembled, and he whimpered as if it were only because he had lost the energy to sob. He was faced with his back toward Craig and his forehead resting against the leg of the coffee table.

Craig sighed, slowly walking to his friend, lowering himself to his knees. The Time Lord startled when he laid a hand on him but soon calmed down to slight shivers as Craig stroked his arm in comfort.

"Doctor," Craig started wearily. "Won't you please get up? You can't–"

_Thud._ Craig jumped as the Doctor reared his head back only to knock it hard against the corner of the coffee table leg. "Doctor!" The man exclaimed in horror as he scrambled to turn the alien over. The Doctor's limp body complied, falling to his back on the floor, revealing a gash on his forehead framed by dark bruises. Craig grunted in distaste and slight panic as he pushed back the Time Lord's greasy locks of hair to study the wound. It was certainly not an injury earned after one mere hit. Had he been doing this to himself the whole time he was left alone?

Falling into a sure panic, Craig bustled to his feet and quickly shot toward the kitchen, but not before hesitating and turning back to his friend, weary to once again leave him to himself. The Time Lord hadn't moved. Blank eyes stared past the ceiling. After fidgeting in more worry, Craig quickly turned back to his goal, retrieved a roll of bandages from the kitchen as well as a wet rag, and bolted back to his charge. He practically stumbled back down to the Doctor.

"Get up," he demanded even as he found himself lifting his mate into a sitting position. The Doctor's figure was dragged up to lean against the coffee table. His head lolled about as he had no strength or resolve to hold it up on his own.

Craig made quick work, wiping away the bit of blood from the man's forehead and cleaning the wound. A few more worried minutes had the Time Lord's head hastily wrapped in the bandages. With a few more sweeps of his fingers through the Doctor's hair, Craig sat back to examine his handiwork and the pitiful image of his friend. All the while, the Doctor only stared down at his own knees, his lanky legs strewn before him and one of his limp arms in his lap, the other flopped out beside him. Craig huffed incredulously.

"What has gotten into you, Doctor?" he demanded, no longer calm. He laid a hand on his friend's knee, holding it firmly to show his concern. "What is going on? Why are you doing this to yourself?"

The Doctor didn't respond. He only blinked incoherently, sending Craig into further exasperation.

"Talk to me, Doctor! Please!"

The Time Lord did not raise his gaze, nor did he answer. With another sigh, Craig turned to sit beside his friend, his back resting against the coffee table as well. The two sat in silence, and the minutes dragged on.

Craig could only blink when the Doctor chose to speak.

"It hurts," the Time Lord rasped, letting a light sob escape his lips. Craig's face fell further as the Doctor continued. He fought the urge to turn to look at the other, knowing it would only break his heart further.

"It _hurts_… so much."

Craig squeezed the Doctor's knee again in assurance.

"Then don't hurt yourself. Please," he whispered, stealing a quick glance at the other's bandaged head, but he knew that the Doctor wasn't speaking of his wound.


	4. Chapter 4

Craig stayed with the Doctor a few moments before getting up to return to the kitchen. After quickly preparing a bowl of soup and all the while coming back to the lounge every other minute to check on the other, the man returned to his friend who had not budged from his position leaning against the coffee table. Kneeling down to the Time Lord's level, Craig offered the bowl of food.

"Here," he prodded. "Please eat, Doctor."

The Doctor eyed the bowl yet made no notion as to moving. Craig sighed as he once again held out the soup, prodding the other to take it.

"You haven't eaten in days, Doctor. Take it and eat it, or I will feed it to you myself."

Craig watched as the Doctor finally caved. Weak hands slowly rose to take the bowl. The Doctor stared at the food, seemingly contemplating whether to partake. All the while, Craig's gaze never left his friend. It wasn't until he exhaled in relief when the Doctor raised a shallow spoonful to his mouth that he realized that he was holding his breath.

The minutes ticked by, long and slowly. Craig continued to watch until almost half of the soup had been finished, until he realized that the Doctor was no longer lifting the spoon to his mouth. In silence, Craig took the bowl from the man, satisfied that he had at least eaten _something._ The Time Lord's hands dropped back to his lap, and Craig placed the bowl of half-eaten cold soup on the coffee table.

"You should… take a shower, mate. I have some clothes you could use; I can put yours in the wash," he offered. The silence in response was not unexpected; however, the Doctor nodded slowly. Craig forced a small smile, relieved that he was at least making some form of progress.

The man lifted himself from his kneel and stooped to help the Doctor up onto his own feet. It concerned him how weak the Doctor was. The man could barely hold his own weight, and he leaned against Craig as they both made their way to the bathroom. They stopped at the door.

"Uh… do you need help?" Craig asked hesitantly. The Doctor shook his head as a negative, and Craig pulled himself from his grasp on the other. The wobble in the Doctor's body as his support left him did not go unnoticed. Craig opened the bathroom door as the other steadied himself by laying a hand on the wall.

"Are you sure?" he asked again. There was no answer, only the Doctor's gaze fixated on the inside of the room toward the bath tub. Craig nodded, looking at the other up and down. He couldn't help but notice that the Doctor's trousers were still undone.

"O-okay," he stuttered. However, he did not leave, and the two stood there in awkward silence. Craig studied the Doctor's head before gesturing a hand to it.

"You should probably remove the bandages," he suggested.

The Doctor did not avert his hollow gaze; however, he lifted a hand to pat the bandages adorning his head. Long fingers traced the gauze as if it were the first time he had noticed it was there. Craig sighed and reached out to unwind the wrap from the Time Lord's head. Thankfully, the break in the skin had not been deep; however, the bruises were many and purpling. Craig watched as the Doctor's fingers traveled across his face, feeling the laceration for the first time.

"Wha… what is this?" he asked, gaze still focused before him.

Craig chose not to answer and patted the other on the shoulder. "Just be careful with… that, the cut," he warned, referring to the wound by pointing to his own head. "Not too bad, but you don't want it to start bleeding again."

He nodded once again before taking a step back to leave. "I'll go get your clothes… Just, uh, be careful. Okay?"

Craig backed away down the hall just long enough to watch his friend slowly shuffle into the bathroom. Reaching the stairs, he quickly plodded towards his bedroom, rifled through his clothes to find a comfortable shirt, pair of trousers, and pair of socks, and made his way back down to the Doctor.

The sound of the shower running could be heard through the doorway. In a sense, Craig felt proud to finally see his friend making progress on the road back to functionality. A part of him, though, wondered if he should at least be in the same room. What if the Doctor still did not possess enough strength and fainted in the shower? Or even more concerning: would the Doctor attempt to hurt himself again if left alone? What if he started knocking his head against the tiled wall? What if he tried to drown himself?

Craig allowed himself to open the door a crack, relieved that the Doctor hadn't locked it. He gingerly made his way in to lay the set of clothes on top of the toilet and then picked up the Doctor's clothes which lay strewn across the tiled floor. He didn't fail to steal a glance toward the shower. Steam cascaded from the tub, and Craig could make out the faint outline of the Doctor's figure. He was standing, not moving, but standing surely.

Leaving the door cracked open, Craig left, hoping for the best.

* * *

He had just put dinner in the oven when he noticed the Doctor pad into the kitchen. The light blue t-shirt hung rather loosely on the Doctor's torso, as expected. The pair of grey tracksuit bottoms could also have fit a little better. Floppy, wet hair stood in every which direction, but already the Doctor was looking much better. His face, however, was no less sullen.

"I'm almost done in here, Doctor," Craig said in a chipper tone for the other man's sake. "You can sit in the lounge if you like. Maybe watch a bit of telly? I'll join you in a mo'. Can redo your bandages too."

He watched as the Doctor turned and left the room without a word. After hastily finishing his work in the kitchen in a matter of a minute or two, Craig snatched up the roll of bandages, antibiotic ointment, as well as a bottle of water and made his way to the lounge. The Doctor sat on one end of the sofa, rigid and staring at the far wall, hands clasped on his knees.

"A drink?" Craig offered as he unscrewed the lid of the bottle and held it toward his friend. The Doctor received it, eyeing it seemingly without much thought, and took a short sip from it. Sitting down beside him, Craig unwound the bandages from the roll and began applying the ointment to the Doctor's wound.

"I'm sorry," Craig replied as he watched the Doctor wince. It was only another minute before he was finished and set down the materials. Mustering up what little courage he had, Craig spoke.

"Look, mate," he began, "I don't know what all has gone on, what happened. You don't even have to tell me if you don't like, but I need you to tell me what I can do to help you." He continued to eye the Doctor, willing out some sort of expression out of the Time Lord's face of stone.

"The last time I saw you, you said something was going to happen. I didn't know what that meant, still don't, but I never thought I'd ever see you again after that, yet here you are.

"I know you didn't purposely come here. Blimey, I know you don't _want_ to be here, but the fact of the matter is—you're here… and… maybe you need to be here… because I'm your friend. I can help you, and I will. Just let me know how."

A few moments passed, and Craig was about to give up on the hope of the Doctor answering. However, the Doctor did speak.

"I'm afraid… there's nothing anyone can do to help." It was a curt statement, not remorseful in any sense. Craig felt himself shiver against the ice.

"I know it's not my place to say—I mean, I don't know what happened—"

"_No. You don't._" Craig jumped at the sudden snarl. The plastic bottle in the Doctor's hands crackled as the grip around it tightened.

"You will never know how I feel. So don't insult me with your _empathy_," the Doctor spat. "_I don't need it."_

Craig eyed the floor before attempting to reply again.

"No… I suppose you're right," he admitted. "I don't suppose I'll ever be able to fully understand any of the things that you've been through in all your years. But please," he paused, choosing his words carefully. "You're emotional right now, Doctor. I get that. Sometimes the best thing to do is confide in someone."

He wanted to lay a comforting hand on the Doctor, but judging by the other's expression of tension, he decided against it. Instead, he chose to continue prodding with words.

"I'm here for you, Doctor. Please see that. You've been through a lot, I know; but you can tell me. I just want to help."

The Doctor inhaled deeply, seeming to calm slightly. However, the tension within his heavy gaze remained.

"It all goes away," the Time Lord began. "It all goes away. I _know_ that. I've spent all my lives knowing that."

The statements were sad, full of remorse, but the Doctor's tone soon reverted to a snarl.

"But you know what makes the universe so cruel?" he sneered. "It gives those exceptions, those little hopes and second chances, and you think that maybe… _maybe _this time is different.

"The one thing that I could have had for all eternity… after everything else had gone away." The Doctor's face tightened along with Craig's heart. "The _one thing_ I could have had, and she's taken away before I could even _realize_ what I even had in my reach."

The face of malice seemed to melt, returning to sullen dejection.

"It _all _goes away," he repeated in a pitiful whisper. However, the cold tone once again returned in a flash, and Craig felt himself shrink away.

"It _all _goes… you find a way to fix that… you find a way to beat the universe, then… _then_ you can help me." He inhaled, as if he were trying to keep his voice from breaking.

"I give my all to this world, yet I'm still unworthy for _one thing_, before I can even ask for it. Can the world not grant me at least _that?_"

There was a long pause.

"_No one_ in this universe can help me."

Another pause.

"And—and… I think I'm done too… helping…"

Craig felt his own gaze lower to the floor. He wanted to sink into the sofa cushions and disappear.

"_I'm done."_

The Doctor said no more, and Craig made no motion to prod. The two sat in silence once again until soft cries from Alfie could be heard from upstairs.

Without another word, Craig left the Doctor.


	5. Chapter 5

He spent half an hour upstairs just playing with Alfie, but the toddler's interest in the toys within his room did not fail to wear thin. Giggling without a care, the young boy consistently tried to escape the nursery, climbing over his father's arms as if it were a game. After another fifteen minutes of attempting to hold the child and withstanding shrill squeals of "Down! Go down!", Craig took Alfie into his arms and made his way to the staircase.

He attempted to think positive thoughts as his foot hit the first step down. Alfie. The Doctor hadn't seen Alfie since he was an infant. The alien adored children—or, at least, he seemed to be the type of person who would. If Doctor had lost hope in the universe, maybe an innocent soul such as Alfie's would stir some sort of feeling within at least one of the old alien's hearts. Craig felt his hope rise, if only just a little.

Blimey. He'd left the food in the oven.

After gingerly traversing down the rest of the stairs and into the lounge, Craig plopped his babbling toddler down before the Time Lord, not failing to notice that the Doctor hadn't moved from his seat on the sofa. In fact, it seemed the alien had not moved at all. He still clutched the open water bottle between his hands. Craig sighed.

"Alfie, I need to take care of the food in the kitchen real quick. Be a good boy and just stay with the Doctor here."

"Doctah!" the two year old squealed in glee. Oh yes, ever since learning the name, the boy loved to repeat it. Craig allowed a faint smile as he moved past the two to reach the kitchen. He tried not look at the Doctor.

Taking the dish of lasagna out of the oven (thankfully it had not been left to cook long enough to burn… too much), Craig peaked his listening to decipher the going on's in the next room. He made out the babbling gibberish of his son (the kid loved to talk) as well as giggly exclamations of "Doctah!" He even heard a "Da da!"

However, he failed to hear any sound to come from the other man. No matter. It wasn't likely that the Doctor would say words anyway. He was hurting after all. Craig didn't allow his hope to fall.

It fell when he reentered the lounge.

What he found was his son playfully scuffling at the pant-leg of a Time Lord who still had not moved a muscle. The Doctor stared straight ahead, betraying not an emotion. Not even looking at the child who begged for the attention of his idol. In fact, it seemed he was refusing to look.

Slowly, Craig shuffled his way around the sofa to lift his son into his arms.

"Shh. Shh. Okay, Alfie. I don't think Mister Doctor wants to be bothered at the moment. Let's go play outside."

"Doctah! Doctah!" A part of Craig wondered how the toddler was so sure that the man on the sofa was the Doctor. It certainly did not seem to be him.

But who could question the innocent judgments of a child?

* * *

Craig took his son to their small fenced-in backyard. Setting Alfie down to run around the grassy expanse, he couldn't help but pause at the sight of the blue police box standing at the far end of the lawn. Now that he thought of it, the time machine hadn't still been in its initial spot blocking the front door when he had gone out to get the mail a day ago. He supposed that it would be ridiculous to think that it would leave without its pilot, but it seemed that the TARDIS had piloted itself to the back of the house.

He sat down in a lawn chair, watching as Alfie played in his small sandbox. Naturally, Craig's worry for the Doctor continued to bombard his thoughts. Would the Doctor ever be able to escape this rut? What could he do to help? And the things the Doctor had said… Did he mean it? A Doctor with no urge to help?

Did he just witness the end of the Doctor being… the Doctor?

It hadn't been ten minutes when Craig heard the back door slide open. In mild shock, he watched as the Doctor plodded his way across the grass to the police box, gaze fixed straight. Craig felt his heart sink. He was leaving. Well, of course he was leaving, but Craig had hoped he would have been able to bring some form of hope back to his friend before he went on his way.

Craig sighed as he watched the Doctor reach out to push the call box's doors open. He supposed it was for the best.

However, the time machine's doors did not submit to the Time Lord's prod. The Doctor tried again, yet the door did not budge. Letting loose a now familiar growl, the Doctor shoved at the blue wood. The forceful pushes soon became banging hits as the Doctor all but threw himself at the set of doors. Snarls turned into raging roars.

"AAAUGH! AAAAAUUUUGHHH!"

Craig only watched. He caught a glimpse of Alfie silently eyeing with a curious look from his seat in the sandbox.

What could one do?

After two more painful-looking shoves with his shoulder, the Doctor reared back and kicked the blue box. His foot, dressed only in a sock, bounced off the wood, and he hissed in pain. Stepping back to take the whole TARDIS into view, he glowered with an expression Craig guessed to be of one betrayed.

"YOU?!" the Doctor screeched, eyes never leaving the box.

"YOUU!? Out of everyone I thought I could trust?!"

He heaved in gasps of air.

"Out of all the times, you choose to go against me _now?!_

"You know what?! I AM SICK OF YOU!" he spat, the spittle flying from his snarling lips. He jabbed an accusing finger at the machine.

"I take you to see the universe, and this is how you treat me?! Worthless _ingrate_! You're no better than the rest of them!

"I'm done! You hear that?!" he leered.

"You are _done_ controlling me! You will not tell me where to go! _No one _tells me where to go! _No one_ tells me what to do! _No one_ will ever tell me what to do _again! _I am _a TIME LORD!_ Not somebody's dog! And I am sick of playing servant to the likes of beings like _YOU! _You are not the master of me! I. AM. _YOUR. _MASTER_!_"

The Doctor's speech ended in panting breaths, and the expression of fury upon his face seemed to melt into one of shock, as if he just realized what he had said. The moment only lasted for a second as the Time Lord once again adopted a snarl, and he spat on the time machine, giving one last shove at the doors. He then swiftly turned around, assessing his surroundings as if trying to locate an escape before storming back into the house.

It was a few more minutes before Craig could bring himself back to his feet. He took a now whimpering Alfie into his arms before slowly making his way back to the house. However, he paused before reaching the door and turned to eye the TARDIS. After gingerly making his way to the time machine, Craig laid a hand on the blue wood. Whether it was a touch of comfort or a touch of curiosity, Craig did not know; however, it just seemed… right.

"I—I'm sorry." He found himself saying before he realized it. With a light shake of the head, he continued. "I'll try my best. I promise you."

It might have been his tired mind playing tricks on him, but Craig thought he felt a low and sorrowful thrum emanate from the old machine. He patted the box, feeling like it was the only thing he could do.

"I'll try. I'll try."

* * *

The house seemed empty once Craig entered. Upon scouring the rooms and hallways, the man finally spotted the sulking Time Lord outside in front of the house, sitting at the edge of the sidewalk with his head hanging low from in between his slumped shoulders. Choosing to leave the alien to his sorrows (because surely he wouldn't do something so rash as to run away, Craig hoped), Craig set Alfie down into his highchair along with some snacks to keep him occupied and then busied himself with more housework and other menial tasks.

Hours passed, and every time Craig walked by to the lounge to gaze out the window, the Doctor was still in the same position in which he last saw him. The sun eventually sunk past the horizon, bathing the suburbs in darkness as well as a chilly air, but still the Doctor did not come inside.

Craig watched the television. He called Sophie. He changed Alfie's diaper. He scoured the newspapers for job listings. He did everything to stall for time, hoping that the Time Lord would finally step into the house.

He heard the front door open just as he sat down for dinner. Beside him, Alfie cooed as he played with his own food but then promptly burst into giggles as a certain man walked into the kitchen threshold.

"Doctah!"

The Time Lord stood at the doorway, not saying a word. His eyes were red and raw, and his lips were practically blue from the cold. His hair was a tousled mess as it had always been in these last few days. Though his face was now apparently void of all previous emotion, those eyes lay on Craig as if they were asking for something. Craig allowed himself to believe it was permission.

"Will you eat, Doctor?" he asked quietly.

Taking the question as a cue, the Doctor padded to the empty chair at the table where a plate of food was already set for him. He only picked up the fork when Craig raised his own to his own mouth.

And they all sat and ate.


	6. Chapter 6

Three days passed. They were uneventful and quiet, but they passed. And the Doctor stayed.

It wasn't that he didn't try to leave. Oh, try he did. He must have thought that Craig didn't know, but he did. He peeked through the blinds in his room early each morning before the sun was even up to watch the alien tread through the dewy grass to the TARDIS in the backyard. With every prod, knock, and push, the doors of the time machine did not yield open though the Doctor asked and demanded and begged even. The Time Lord would caress the wooden panels as he knelt upon his knees, leaning his weight against the blue box. He would plead until the pleas melded into low sobs and quaking shoulders.

After what looked to be a snarl, he would then leave. Hours later upon coming downstairs, Craig would find the Time Lord sitting on the sofa, silently staring at the ceiling fan.

Craig didn't know what the Doctor did when he and Alfie left him alone in the house. At first, Craig was wary to leave his friend alone at all. His wound was still healing after all, and Craig feared that another would be earned if given the chance. However, errands demanded that Craig leave the house, and he left the Time Lord to himself.

The first time he left and came back, he found the alien sitting on the sofa, just where he had seen him before they had left. The second time, he was nowhere to be seen. Craig scoured the house until he opened the door to the guest bedroom, beholding a lump of a body underneath the covers and pillows of the bed. Upon seeing that the lump was breathing, Craig left.

All in all, the Doctor poised no problem throughout the days, the only thing he required being food, clothing, the guest room, and the bathroom when need be. Though he earned much of Craig's concern, the days passed in what one could call some sort of normalcy.

* * *

Two more days passed.

Craig stirred from sleep before the sun was up. Thoughts already drifting to the Doctor, he rolled off the bed, padded to the window, and lifted a single blind to peek at the Time Lord who was sure to be attempting to coerce a certain time machine into leaving.

Sure enough, the Doctor was there in the backyard, sitting in the wet grass and the dank morning air with his back against the TARDIS…

He was calm.

Craig blinked, straining to scrutinize the other man. The Doctor's mouth was moving, speaking words, to himself or to the time machine, Craig did not know. However, he just seemed to be… talking.

Choosing to take the strange (or rather, normal) behavior as a good sign, Craig resigned himself to his bed for a few more hours of rest. It was Alfie's cries that woke him much later, and after tending to him, Craig padded down the stairs with the toddler in his arms.

He could not help but startle when he saw a lack of Time Lord on the sofa. Feeling worry steadily rise within his chest, Craig hurriedly paced toward the direction of the patio doors to look out into the backyard. He stopped in his tracks and released a sigh of relief once he turned into the kitchen door and was met with the sight of the missing alien. The Doctor stood before one of the kitchen counters, his eyes wandering over… something, seemingly studying it. Craig's view was blocked by the fridge.

"Doctor?"

Green eyes flicked up to meet Craig's. Craig wasn't expecting an answer, of course. The Time Lord's expression was blank, as it always was; however, Craig felt a touch of hope when he found it was not _hollow_. In fact, it looked as if, in a way, the Doctor had just woken up from a long sleep.

The Doctor's gaze fell back to the kitchen counter, perusing whatever seemed to continue to catch his interest. The two stood there until Alfie's coos eventually broke the silence.

Weaving past his friend, Craig settled his son into the high chair and poured a handful of cereal onto the tabletop to keep the boy occupied. Turning back, he looked over the Doctor's shoulder to catch sight of the alien's object of scrutiny.

He saw blue envelopes and fancy stationary. Craig inhaled a breath.

_That_ day.

It was a moment before he allowed himself to speak.

"Doctor?"

No answer.

"Would you like to—May I speak to you?" Craig prodded.

The Doctor looked up once again, eyes drifting to Craig. It wasn't an empty look, nor was it disapproving. It was just a steady gaze, and Craig could only take it to say, "Okay."

He inhaled. _Okay._

Without another word, Craig made his way to the other side of the kitchen table and took a seat. He was pleased to see the Doctor, after a moment, pull out a chair from the opposite side and take a seat himself.

They faced each other, seeming to will the other to speak first. Craig inhaled again and prepared himself to begin the conversation.

"I—"

"You're getting married."

The interruption came as a curt surprise, and Craig could only blink. The Doctor's expression remained fixed, blank. It wasn't a question. Craig dared to even say that it wasn't even an observation. It was only a statement… of disdain?

"You're getting married."

Craig's eyes wandered back to the blue envelopes upon the kitchen counter. Wedding invitations… or, at least, the extras and the ones they had not sent.

Somewhere in that pile, there was an envelope with the title of "The Doctor" written upon it, waiting to be addressed and sent.

"Yes… Yes, we're getting married."

Craig could practically feel the weight of scrutiny as the Time Lord's eyes roamed over him. He felt his eyebrows furrow at the Doctor's sudden interest.

"To Sophie."

Craig's eyebrows furrowed even further at the Doctor's statement which seemed to be some sort of inquiry.

"Of course to Sophie," he stated. Upon noticing the sudden hardness in his voice, Craig forced a feigned chuckle and a shake of the head.

"Of course to Sophie. Who else but Sophie?"

The Doctor _humphed_, siting back into the chair, his gaze never leaving Craig. Craig shook his head once again, willing to change the subject. The look upon the Doctor's face was not exactly comforting, and he wished to stray away from the negativity that seemed to seep from the Time Lord's expression…

… especially if it had anything to do about Sophie. He refused to let negativity mingle with his constant thoughts about Sophie.

"Are you feeling better, Doctor?"

The Doctor only exhaled through his nose. One hand had strayed to the tabletop, fingering at the tongs of a fork that had not been put away.

"Please, Doctor." Craig leaned forward, resting his elbows upon the table. Beside him, Alfie cooed and nibbled on his treats.

"It's an understatement if I say that I feel you haven't been yourself lately."

The Time Lord's eyes never ceased to roam over the other man.

"Myself?" the Doctor asked in a tone that bordered on being a leer. "What is 'myself'?"

Craig could not help but quirk an eyebrow at the question.

"You… _The Doctor_. You're not—"

"You're saying I'm not the Doctor?"

"No! No…" Craig shook his head, wringing his hands. "What I am saying, mate… Look, I don't even know. I feel like I am going in circles with you. What is wrong, Doctor? You spend days in bed. You haven't spoken in ages, actually _spoken_. You've hurt yourself even. Sometimes you're angry. Sometimes you grieve. What…" Craig found that he did not know what else to say. He only looked to his friend, pleading with his eyes for an answer.

"What happened to you?"

Green eyes hovered, and Craig could only think that the silence was maddening.

"You're getting married."

Craig let out a grunt before he could stifle it.

"Yes, I am getting married to Sophie. In fact, I'd like you to come to the wedding, but first we need to—"

"She'll leave you."

Everything became still. Craig found himself halted midsentence, glaring at the Time Lord in shock laced with innocent confusion.

"What?"

"She'll leave, or you'll leave. One of you will leave. Either way," the Doctor stated flatly, "it only ends in being lonely."

"What—"

"It always ends… with one of you."

He could only stare. What was he to say?

"How—how can you say something like that?" he asked. His eyes remained widened, willing some form of rational explanation for the atrocity just stated.

The Doctor took a moment before answering. Long fingers continued to play with the stray fork.

"How can I _not, _Craig?"

A feeling seemed to boil within Craig. He did not want to call it anger nor rage. For now, he harbored it, choosing his words carefully.

"You're wrong," he stated curtly with a slight shake of the head. "You're wrong. I love Sophie, and she loves me."

The Doctor chuckled. Craig startled at the sound, eyes widening further and nostrils unintentionally flaring. How _dare _he laugh?

"Oh petty _human_," the Doctor chortled. "All of you. You and your silly _love_."

"It's not _silly_," Craig proclaimed, at a loss as he faced the man before him. "I love Sophie. We have been in love for years. You _know_ that. Marriage is just another step. We would never leave each other."

_Clack_. Craig winced as the fork hit the table top when the hand holding it brought it down suddenly.

"You would never leave each other?" the Doctor tested. "You think you have a say in that? You think you have a choice?"

Craig shook his head, not understanding the words the Doctor presented. He said the only thing he could say.

"I love Sophie—"

"_Wrong!_" The fork clacked again, and Craig jumped. Alfie whimpered.

"Daft man," the Doctor leered. "You speak of your love and your happy little, _tiny_ life. Do you think that your silly love has any power against what is reality?"

The Time Lord exhaled hard through his nose. His lips peaked downward in a frown as his eyes bore into Craig's. It was a few moments before he could find the will to speak, but Craig answered in the only way he could.

"Yes."

The Doctor glowered at him incredulously with a look of disdain.

"Oh, you're so special?" he mocked. "Do you—do you even know what is reality? Do you know what all the galaxy holds? See, this is why you _humans _are so laughable. You're a joke, thinking you have the answers when really you're all children, needing to be taught.

Do you know anything? Do you know sorrow? Do you know pain? Do you really? Because reality—true and proper reality—it harrows, and it destroys. It does not pick and choose. It does not show mercy for young, stupid love. You think you have power over that? You think that your love will beat the cruelty and the grief that is space and time itself?"

Craig's voice didn't falter. He stared into the Time Lord's eyes, sincerity seeping into his lips to form the words that came so naturally.

"Yes, and I've seen it do so," he stated.

"And so have you, Doctor… So have you."

The Doctor stiffened, eyebrows furrowing into an expression of pity and disgust.

"Who are you to say what I have seen?" he snarled.

Craig stared. "I think you know it too, Doctor. I really believe you do," he stated curtly yet softly.

"You're a fool, Craig. Just like all—"

"You can leave."

The Time Lord froze, glaring at the other man. Craig only inhaled and repeated himself.

"Leave. Just go. Leave this house."

The chair creaked as it slid back and the Doctor stood. Green eyes bore into Craig until the Time Lord turned and swiftly left the kitchen. All the while, Craig watched until he disappeared through the kitchen door threshold.

The last traces of the Doctor in Craig's household were the sounds of a slamming door and finally the grating and wheezing of time engines at work.

* * *

(Epilogue to be posted)


	7. Epilogue

The lonely month had come and gone. Sophie would be flying home tomorrow. Heart anxious and excited, Craig bustled about the house, cleaning, cooking, preparing.

He knew he had missed her (that much was obvious), but he hadn't realized how desperately he longed for her to be back, especially with all of the happenings of the past month. The immense weight of loneliness pressed down on him now, and he looked forward to when Sophie would finally step through the door and greet him after so long of a wait.

Between sweeping the floor and tucking Alfie into bed for a nap, his thoughts slipped to the Doctor. The certain Time Lord had also been invading his thoughts constantly ever since he had left.

It was no matter now, though. The Time Lord had left and hadn't returned. It'd been almost two weeks.

Maybe it was for the best. Craig hadn't helped, and there would have been no use for him if he had stayed. On the other hand, he didn't believe Sophie would have wanted to see their friend in such a condition. He decided then he wouldn't tell his fiancé about the Doctor's stay. It was all for the best.

Craig's heart swelled at the thought of Sophie again. _My fiancé_. The day… _that_ day… it was only a week away. From friend, to girlfriend, to fiancé, to _wife._ A smile fought its way onto his lips.

_I'm getting married._

'_She'll leave you…'_

Craig wiped the dust from atop the plasma television, a frown on his face.

'_It always ends… with one of you.'_

It had been said with such conviction, such grief. Craig had no doubt that the Doctor believed it… had lived it, even. The thought deepened his frown.

No one deserved such loneliness.

Craig wished he could do something. He wished he _had_ done something. But what could one do?

'_I'm afraid… there's nothing anyone can do to help.'_

He startled himself when he set down a vase with much more force than he expected. He huffed, shaking his head. His thoughts were drifting, becoming sullen. Sophie was coming home, and with just a few days more before the wedding, there was really no reason to be weathered down, he reasoned to himself. The Doctor could take care of himself.

… or, at least, now he could. The Time Lord had been functioning when he had left the house. Craig could only hope, for there was nothing else he could do, the small, little human he was.

'_Oh petty human…'_

Forcing his thoughts away from his dismal friend, Craig tugged the liner full of trash out of the bin in the kitchen. Tying the knot, he trudged to the front door to bring it to the curb.

Craig came to a sudden halt when he opened the door. He was greeted with purple.

The Doctor stared back, mouth agape, hand wavering before him, as if he had been deciding to knock.

"C-Craig." He said it with a stutter, as if he were surprised.

Or afraid, Craig thought, and he looked the Time Lord up and down. Yes, definitely afraid. Craig didn't know what to think of it.

All the while, the Doctor continued to try to form words. "Craig, I—I—"

Before anything more could be said, Craig set down the bag of trash and stepped to the side, gesturing to the inside of the house.

"Won't you come in?"

* * *

Craig had immediately set off to make tea. The Doctor sat in the lounge, in the same spot on the same sofa that he had occupied only two weeks before.

Craig couldn't help but take his time making and pouring the tea. He couldn't help but rifle through his thoughts because, in all honesty, he was stumped. He was properly stumped.

Why was the Doctor here? How long had it been for him since he had left? What did he mean to tell Craig? Was he better now? Why was he wearing purple?

One question stood above all the rest: what did he himself, Craig, think of it all?

He really had no idea how to feel. He was happy to see the familiar face, yet apprehensive of the visit. If he were to be honest, he hadn't been expecting to ever lay eyes on the Time Lord again.

Inhaling slowly, Craig finally finished with the two mugs of tea and carried them over to the lounge. He watched as the Doctor looked over his shoulder at him as soon as he stepped through the threshold. The Time Lord continued to nervously watch him as he trudged around the sofa and took a seat beside him.

He handed one of the steaming mugs to the Doctor, and the alien nodded his thanks. Craig didn't fail to notice that the Doctor never stopped eyeing him, only lifting the mug up to drink once Craig did himself. The two set down their respective cups at the same time.

They also chose to speak at the same time.

"Craig, I—"

"So Doctor—"

The two stopped, looking at each other. Craig was tempted to chuckle, but he held it back as he studied how warily the Doctor eyed him.

"You go first," the Doctor offered, gesturing to Craig, who nodded.

"Okay," Craig paused, choosing his words carefully as he didn't want to start off on the wrong note. He decided to begin with the simple, not only to break the ice but also because he simply wanted to know how the Time Lord was.

"And how have you been?"

"I'm…" the Doctor paused, lips pursed together. "… Better," he finished flatly. He rubbed his hands against his trousers as he spoke. Craig spoke again when the man didn't expound.

"And… have you been back to… traveling?"

The Time Lord was looking at his fingers resting on his knees.

"I… yes, I suppose," he paused again, as if he were deciding whether to add detail. "I've met someone… new…"

The Doctor straightened, looking at Craig and stumbling over his words in order to clarify himself.

"A companion. I've found a new companion." He averted his gaze back to the carpet and once again adjusted himself in his seat. Craig wondered if he had always fidgeted in such a way. "I think I'll travel with her a bit… start again," he finished.

Nodding, Craig paused, taking care in choosing his next question. After some thought, he threw all hesitation to the wind, figuring he had the right to ask. He dove straight to the point: "Where did you go? When you left here."

He watched as the Doctor wrung his hands together, staring at the floor. The Time Lord hadn't taken off his jacket, the purple tweed pooling around him on the sofa.

"Uh… Victorian London."

Craig's eyebrows quirked up on their own accord. "Victorian London?"

"Yes," the Doctor confirmed, continuing to wring fingers. "She took me there… the TARDIS, that is." Green eyes briefly darted to the window before swinging back to once again study the carpet.

"I have friends there."

"And they took care of you? Your friends?"

"Yes… as much as they could," he replied.

"And…" It was Craig's turn to stare at the floor. He didn't want to interrogate his friend, but he was concerned. He wanted to know. "And… how long has it been for you… since you left here?"

The Doctor stared forward, biting his lip as if he were scouring for the answer within his mind or deciding if he should say at all. There was a heavy inhale before he spoke.

"It was a dark time Craig. It was a _long _time. Such a long time and… you'll have to excuse me when I say I can't remember."

Craig nodded, sympathy flooding him. He didn't ask the Doctor to specify whether he meant remembering how long it had been or just simply… _remembering_.

"Do you remember staying here?"

There was another heavy inhale, and Craig watched as the Doctor's face contorted into a sort of sadness. Long fingers clenched and unclenched. There seemed to be such pain in the Time Lord's expression, and Craig suddenly worried that he had asked the wrong question.

'_REMEMBER? REMEMBER?! ALL I DO IS REMEMBER!'_

"Some… I remember some," came the soft answer.

Craig nodded, sitting further back into the sofa. The air surrounding them was much too thick.

"I—I'm so sorry, Craig."

The Doctor's figure hunched, his eyes intensely focused downward.

"I… you… you took me in … and cared for me, and… and if Vastra and Jenny had seen me like _that_… I don't know what… I can't—" he took in a heavy breath and continued, seeming to choose a different path of words.

"I hope… that you will forgive me… the things I said: I didn't mean them—"

"Yes, you did," Craig pointed out but then regretted as he watched the Time Lord wince and hunch further. Craig wished the Doctor would look at him and see that his own expression was soft, not accusing.

"Yes," the Doctor admitted, "I suppose I did, and I suppose I still do… mean it... if I were to say it now." The Doctor seemed to tense before he continued speaking.

"But my losses give me no reason to impose on your happiness, your's and Sophie's. Just because I have lost doesn't mean… it doesn't… I… " His words faltered again.

"Doctor," Craig said as he leaned forward to his friend. "Doctor, look at me please."

The Time Lord directed his gaze to the other, and it truly grieved Craig to see the sincere sadness within those ancient eyes.

"Doctor, there's no need… for all this. There's no need to be so… uptight, so nervous with me, and certainly no need for an apology."

The Doctor's eyes wavered at the statement.

"You're my mate. You've already been forgiven."

Craig slapped a hand onto the Doctor's shoulder, giving him a firm and assuring nudge, and for the first time since the Cybermen in the shopping mall, Craig watched the Doctor smile. Sincere thankfulness seemed to flood the Time Lord's expression.

"Oh Craig, where would I be without you?" the Doctor said with slight laughter in his voice, though the dismal and heavy truth in the statement could be seen through his eyes.

Even so, Craig could see the joy there, and he reveled in the progress the Doctor seemed to have made since that dark time the last time they'd met. The Doctor—the Doctor Craig knew—was back.

Craig grinned, letting relief set in. He reached out for his mug and took a swig of tea, but his gaze was once again drawn to the Doctor who had again reverted to staring at the floor. It was as if he were again thinking about what to say. Slowly, Craig set down his mug onto the coffee table and turned to fully face the Doctor.

Suddenly, the fidgeting and the nervousness made sense. His friend wasn't here to only deliver an apology; that much Craig could see.

"Do you want to talk?"

So many times over the past month he had asked the same question, and all of those times he had been shot down. Craig didn't know what it was that swelled in his own chest when the Doctor looked up at him, his eyes seeming to ask a question they already knew the answer to.

"About _her?"_ he asked in a sort of airy whisper.

Craig spoke softly. "Only if you want to."

The Time Lord's gaze went back down to the floor. Hands again began to wring themselves. Eyes clenched, not with tears, but with a heavy, almost tangible sorrow.

"I—I don't know how to even begin."

"Just tell me about her."

"But… _how_?"

It was then that Craig saw how truly _lonely_ the Time Lord was, how painful _remembering_ must be for him. Because the Doctor was right: how does one casually speak about a love that was lost, a love that was now only a memory?

"You… you loved her, didn't you?"

The Doctor glowered at him, as if he had been accused.

"I _still_ love her."

Craig nodded, pausing to truly ponder over the immense conviction in the statement.

_I __**still **__love her._

"Then don't tell me about what she was like or who she _was_. Tell me why you love her."

The Doctor's eyes searched him. He remained silent, though his mouth hung slightly open as if it were about to speak, as if it wanted to speak but could not.

"Like how I would tell you how I love Sophie, and how I will love Sophie forever, even if the universe somehow forced us apart. You tell me what makes you still love her even after all that has happened."

The Doctor now breathed heavily. He broke his gaze from Craig, looking downward again, his hands still clenching each other tightly.

"I… she…"

An inhale and a wavering exhale. Craig gave him the time he needed; he didn't know what the alien had been through, but he knew it wasn't easy.

"She… was hell."

"Don't tell me what she _was_," Craig repeated. "You tell me what she _is_ to you."

The Doctor was already shaking his head, a wordless plea of _I can't. Please don't make me._ He didn't say the words though. Craig prodded again with his own words, leaning forward to the other.

"Tell me why she is always _here_… to _you_, Doctor. Tell me why she is still here to you, even when she's not."

Like how Sophie was always here to _him_, he realized. He could always hear her, and he could always see her. Even during a whole month of loneliness, he never was truly alone, not really. He didn't have to be. The thought lifted the burden that had been weighing down on his chest for the past month even as he realized that he had always known this fact.

He didn't have to be lonely. He just wished the Doctor would realize.

The Doctor was still shaking his head, the battle within it almost visible. Craig watched as the Time Lord's eyes flickered across the floor before looking upward. There was a pause as the Doctor seemed to still, his eyes focused forward, studying the wall as if he had found something, something that reassured him. Gaining his composure with a heavy breath, he began again.

"She _is_ hell."

Craig couldn't help but let himself smile softly. The Doctor's expression softened as well. He had just overcome the hardest obstacle: beginning. He continued, his eyes all the while looking forward.

"And… and she is lovely."

Those gazing eyes softened even more, wincing in the pain of grief yet filling with a new understanding.

"She is lovely…

"She is impossibly lovely."

* * *

**A/N:** I began writing this when the latter half of series 7 was still airing. Honestly, I wasn't planning on finishing it (but I'm glad I did).

The idea mostly stemmed from the fact that I missed Craig and thought that the character could serve to do more for Eleven rather than just be some plot device or a source of comic relief in an episode. I feel that the Doctor could have … learned(?) something from Craig, this normal man who's overweight and is sort of a klutz, whose main concern is merely being a good boyfriend and father, and who doesn't travel around or do anything exemplary, yet somehow has enough heart to keep a spaceship from taking off and even stop a group of Cybermen. Not to say that the Doctor never learned anything from Craig, but I definitely thought there could have been more.

Furthermore, while I love the fact that Vastra, Jenny, and Strax looked after the Doctor during those "dark times," I just can't see that group caring for a completely devastated and practically incoherent Doctor, a Doctor who literally could not take care of himself because of all the grief. He would need someone who could see him as… human. I thought Craig fit nicely into that role.

So… yes… those are my explanations. I was wary to post this as I still fear that the idea is strange and maybe out-of-character, but maybe you could tell me what you think? Otherwise, thank you for taking the time to read. :)


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